


Open Hearts

by ShyTortise



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, My fix it fic, Occasional cameos by other people, no real drama, only love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-13 19:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16024667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyTortise/pseuds/ShyTortise
Summary: Gimli realizes he's in love almost immediately, but there is much to do and stolen moments make for a slow romance.





	1. Woods

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write schmoop sort of in the style of Tolkein. I basically took the movies and the books, rolled it together into a dough and took a literary cookie cutter to it. There was GOING to be Elvish and Dwarvish and then translations at the end of chapters but I am a lazy fuck. So, elvish that I can't pepper in in three words or less will be denoted thusly < >, dwarvish in the same vein, will be denoted thus [ ]. Thank you.
> 
> PS: no one edited this but me, because none of my friends ship it.

Gimli hummed softly as he slid the whetstone over the edge of his axe, punctuating every fifth beat with a tap of his foot as the stone sang his weapon to sharpness. He felt the familiar presence behind him and marveled,once again, at how he had heard nothing as the elf approached.

“You need not fret I will take my axe to your beloved trees. I would not insult The Lady so.”

A puff of warm air brushed past his ear and he could clearly imagine the exasperated curl of the princeling’s lips.

“I would not impugn your honor, not when I have only just received your forgiveness.”

Gimli glanced behind him taking in the pained look in the faded emerald eyes, made brighter by their marble setting.

“Glad I am to hear it, but then I cannot help but wonder why you have crept up on me.”

He hid his smile in his beard, running the whetstone over his axe a final time as the elf straightened in indignation.

“I am no spawn of Ungoliant, to creep and take the innocent unawares.”

Gimli had not meant to truly offend, so he kept his tone light.

“Ah, so you are a hawk then? Hunting from on high and swooping down to sink your talons into the unwary.” That won him a laugh, and he felt it land like a fistful of gems in the vault of his heart.

“I do not think Orcs are as good to eat as rabbits, and you are never unwary master dwarf. Even here, in this safest and most sacred of forests.”

Gimli tucked the whetstone into his pouch and set his axe aside.

“And now I see. It is into that forest you wish to go, and you do not wish to be the sole recipient of the attention of the residents.”

A deceptively delicate hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“You have found me out. Will you walk with me again?”

“Of course, I am used to the stares and whispers.” He made to stand, pausing as the long strong fingers squeezed his shoulders.

“I do not wish to make mock of you, or subject you to anything unpleasant.”

Gimli recognized the quiet shame in the elf’s voice, and felt it himself as he recalled his early behavior. He reached up to cover the lithe hand with his own.

“Legolas, I spoke in jest. A poor one perhaps, but I am not averse to walking with you.” No matter where they might be. He cleared his throat, closing the doors to his heart and it’s insidious whispers. “Especially since you and the others braved more treacherous paths than these on our journey here.” Khazad Dum, lost to darkness and evil that he had not felt, had not allowed himself to feel until it was too late-

“Nay good master dwarf,” the voice behind him was soft, but held only shared sorrow, not pity “Though I found fear and sorrow in that place I did not find grief as great as yours. Say not that you owe me aught for that.”

Gimli’s chest clenched and he took a breath to control himself as he finally stood and turned to face Legolas a carved ivory figure amidst the gold and topaz of Lothlorien.

“Then let us leave such talk behind and find more in these woods for you to admire. Lead on, I am with you.”

**

He was indeed used to the stares; though it seemed that, unlike the people of Elrond, the Lorien elves were not content to whisper.

“One day I will learn Elvish.” His muttered complaint won him another precious laugh.

“And which elvish dialect will you choose?”

Gimli’s steps slowed for a moment, then he harrumphed and moved to stay next to the elf.

“I had no inkling there was more than one, but never let it be said that Gimli son of Gloin turned from a challenge.”

“You would tie your tongue in knots to try them all.” Perhaps it was the image of him fumbling with the language that made Legolas smile, but Gimli wondered if it might not be other thoughts, perchance about his mouth.

“Oh ye of little faith.” He smiled up at the Sindar prince. “My tongue has as much stamina and flexibility as the rest of me.” That won him a blank look for a moment and he stored the deep flush that burned Legolas’ ears after deep in his heart and memory. The elf shifted his weight and took a slow breath, likely to regain his composure.

“Be at ease, there is no one to call your bluff yet.” They followed a gentle curve in the path, golden leaves glinting in the sunlight as they danced through the air. “They say naught malicious, they only wonder at how skillfully you charmed their lady.” Gimli could see the tension in Legolas’ stance that hinted the prince was not telling the entire truth, but he let it lie. There was no need to dig up grudges here, not when the air was so still and calm.

“Master elf if that was skillful in their eyes then I am sorry for them. I am as a dwarrowling when it comes to words. Fumbling for the ones that will shine with my true meaning.” He bent down to pick up one of the large leaves, marveling at the pattern and width of it. He looked up to ask what tree it had fallen from and stopped when he saw Legolas frowning at him.

“Why would that cause you to pity them?”

There was something else behind that question, but he couldn’t make out it’s shape behind the gentle pale green of Legolas’ eyes.

“Because if I seem charming, then they have never been spoken to as they surely deserve.”

The frown deepened and Gimli resisted the urge to point out the furrow in the usually smooth brow.

“I do not understand.”

He rubbed his beard, looking at the shafts of light as the wind stirred the branches above them and felt the familiar hollow frustration of not being able to make himself understood.

“I have no better words to explain yet. Let us leave it and you can tell me instead of how the Lady’s wood compares with your home of Mirkwood.”

“It is called the Greenwood by those attempting to be civil.” Gimli winced and opened his mouth apologize. He had known it’s old name of course, once he had joined his father in Erebor when Dain had become king he had learned all the surrounding lands. Legolas shook his head, raising a hand to stop him. “But I cannot deny what it has become. Let us find a place to sit and I will tell you of the once great Greenwood.”

>>>>================<=>

He was tired, frustrated and hungry. Those were the only excuses he had for his discourtesy. Of course he would argue that being surrounded at spearpoint and having his name demanded of him, as if he were a prisoner instead of a free being and a warrior in his own right, had not helped.

“Give me your name horse-master, then I shall give you mine.” He should have introduced himself first, but the anger at hearing the Lady of the Golden Wood called a witch overrode it. And as one who had seen the truth was it not his duty to set matters right when he saw them awry? “You speak foul of things fair beyond your comprehension, and only little wit can excuse you!” The flash of anguish and rage across Eomer’s face told him that they three pursuers were not the only anxious and exhausted party.

“I would cut off your head _Dwarf_ ,” there was a venom there he had not heard since he himself had spat that he would never trust an elf. It froze him, even as the rider continued “if it stood but a little further from the ground.”

For a split second he mistook the hiss of a drawn arrow and a taut bowstring for his own indrawn breath.

“He stands not alone, you would die before your stroke fell!”

Gimli had not seen such tension in Legolas’ frame since he had leapt to his feet to defend Aragorn from Boromir’s early scorn. He knew the fire in his chest for the pride and desire it was; then the Ranger in question stepped forward, pushing the nocked arrow down gently, murmuring soft words in Elvish, and Gimli felt the dragon flame of jealousy smoulder in his belly. He would learn Elvish before the end of the journey, by his axe he swore.

Then there was no time for jealousy, not when sheer terror for Merry and Pippin smothered it like a glint of silver in a murky lake. Surely they had not come so close only to lose them now!  
Despair, like the bottomless dark of Khazad Dum engulfed him until their ranger leapt forward, eyes blazing with hope.

“They fled, this way!” And he followed, because the stench of death could not have shrouded his young friends. It did not suit their cheery dispositions and surely the silence of death could not stifle their ringing laughter.

He only noticed the forest when he was surrounded by the creaking of sharp grasping branches, and the large trunks moaning like supports warning of an imminent mine shaft collapse. Legolas’ voice was soft and filled with awe.

“This forest is old...and full of anger.” Gimli’s grip on his axe tightened as he saw the elf’s grip on his bow go slack. “I feel a child again, standing before the wrath of my father.” He heard the slight strain of true fear and forced himself forward to press his shoulder against the archer’s hip.

“Yet you stand not alone, as you said for me.” He might have imagined the gentle press of a hand between his shoulder blades, but he chose to believe he had not.

He knew he did not imagine the searing cold that forced him to drop his axe when the White Wizard appeared, though he would have flung himself at the enemy had he not recognized the familiar face at last.

“Gandalf!”


	2. Plains and Caves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rohan is a ride in quite few ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Gandalf has this great line about not being haughty when they go to see Theodan, and then he acts like a cranky old bastard not five pages later, so I had to put that in. Also enjoy Legolas being salty about having to disarm.

The ride to Edoras left him feeling a venerable two hundred and eighty rather than the one hundred forty he was. He’d been wary of the horse for fear it might throw him, and yet it was attempting to match it’s gait that had given him bruises in places that hadn’t seen them since he was a dwarrowling risking his mother’s wrath for some fool stunt involving heights and leaping...he could barely recall it and the memory gave him no warmth as he was forced to divest himself of his weapons.

Watching Legolas disarm however was a rare treat and he savored each graceful movement, and the disdainful looks the human guards received. Daggers were drawn with a flourish and presented with their gleaming white handles, the elf spoke a warning, through gritted teeth, that they be treated with care as they were gifts from the Lady of Lorien. His bow practically flew into his hand and he held it out imperiously until the human took it and set it aside as well. His quiver dangled from his fingers, dropping as the man reached for it, the arrows clattering on the ground at his feet.

Aragorn cleared his throat and Legolas practically growled, a noise Gimli would treasure along with his laughter, then two more knives, boot and wrist were deposited and the dwarf had to bite his lip as long deft fingers reached up into the silver hair and pulled a wicked looking needle from one of the many braids. Legolas glared at the Rohan man, spreading his arms wide.

“Well? Would you have me disrobe as well, or would that count as a weapon of a different sort?” That startled a laugh from Gimli, and he pursed his lips to keep any more mirth from escaping, but he saw those prasiolite eyes glance his way, and the flicker of a wink.

Hama shook his head.  
“No, stay as you are. But I must have your staff greybeard.”

“Foolishness! Prudence is one thing but discourtesy is another. I am old.If I may not lean on my stick as I go, then I will sit out here, until it pleases Theodan to hobble out himself to speak with me.”

Gimli looked up at Aragorn, wondering just who it had been, as they had ridden up to the gates of the golden halls that had said: “speak no haughty word”. That great and stern wizard had transformed into a crotchety old man, leaning on the ranger just as much as his staff. Aragorn raised one shoulder in a shrug, the very picture of an indulgent grandson. Though if he addressed the wizard as ‘granther’ Gimli would not be held responsible for the howls of laughter that would escape him.

“Surely you would not deny the old man his walking stick?”

**

It was a dour hall they entered, Théoden looking as aged as Gimli felt and his wits seemed almost as feeble. Gandalf stormcrow? Crows had ever been an omen to heed. Following armies, flying before storms, one who wondered not what stirred a crow had none to blame but themselves for the calamity ahead. And they were clever creatures, despite the Ravens’ distaste for them.

The brawl was a welcome relief and Gimli threw himself into the comforting rhythm of hard to soft, soft to hard as his cousin Dwalin had taught him. Elbow to stomach, palm to nose, forearm to throat. He was spared a moment to glance at the still shouting wizard and felt his heart leap into his throat as a vision in dirty green and brown leathers stepped in to keep even more humans at bay.

The elf was a thing of beauty, moving like the liquid metal that responded to heat...would Legolas respond to heat as well? The cold did not move him but would hot breath? Warm hands? A tongue perhaps-? He was called back to himself as the wildman he had pinned attempted to headbutt him, apparently forgetting that the dwarf had a helmet, and he did not. For a moment Gimli was glad he was not back in Erebor, his trainer would have used her knee and a more inopportune placement. Gimli dispelled the fantasy of pale hands running through his hair as a husky voice growled in his ear, slamming the back of the human’s head against the stones before standing to look around.

**

“Come, Gandalf! Were both our years comparable to those of man who would be the eldest?”

“You are both children if that occupies your minds more than the tasks ahead!”

“Well, we would be in his eyes.”

“I am no child master elf.”

“And yet you seem so to me master dwarf, not even two hundred…”

“Perhaps a short time as you beings of light reckon it, but among my people I am in the prime of my life. As are you from what I have gathered. So I say we are the same age.”

“And yet my youth will outstrip yours by a considerable margin, will you then call me a child?”

“No, for we will have aged together. From the start of this quest, until I am in the Halls of Mahal, you and I will be of an age.”

“I would like that, friend Gimli.”

That night they set up camp and Gimli noticed that the sonorous baritone voice he had grown accustomed to on their hunt was silent.

“You do not sing tonight?”

“I find my spirits dampened...tell me of the Halls of Mahal, perhaps that will lessen my sorrow at knowing you will one day depart.”

“Will not you also depart these lands? For those shores of the land you call undying?”

“My people do not feel the call to Valinor so keenly, and that is far in the future.”

“Farther than your elf eyes can see?”

A soft chuckle

“Yes, further even than that.”

“Then I will see if I can ease your mind, though the translation may not be as grand:

Where hearth and home stretch on and on  
Where hammers ring from dusk ‘til dawn  
In lantern light and forge’s glow  
The endless sky, a river, flows  
The softest beds and solid stone  
A place to call our very own  
Surrounded by our kith and kin  
Mahal’s grand Halls hold all within

...That is as near as I can come to it in the common tongue.”

“It calls the sky a river?”

“We dwarves do not hate the open sky, for all we do not sing to the stars as you elves do. It is said that Mahal built the Halls with a canal that would run with the light and colors of the sky. Blue with clouds in the day, and a river of stars at night.”

“But what of the sun and moon?”

“They are the works of other artificers and belong to all. I doubt not there will be places from which to view them.”

“Do you not fear death?”

“That is a difficult question to answer friend. I do fear dying alone, or in vain. But I am crafted for work, be it battle or the business of living. If my death has meaning I am content.”

Pale fingers brushed his wrist before Legolas clutched his hand.

“You will not pass into those halls alone, I swear it! I will sing for you then, into that sleep before your journey.”

He squeezed the cool hand gently, glad there were no fires for the elf to make out his blush with.

“Thank you, Legolas.”

  
***

  
He grunted, attempting to lift onto his toes to count the multitudes spread on the plain before the keep.

“Shall I describe it to you? Or would you like me to fetch you a box?”

Gimli was about to ask what in Durin’s name he would need with a box, when he understood the nature of Legolas’ jest. He burst into laughter, noting the flinches of the elves nearby.

“I would not risk sending you away, for fear the battle would begin in earnest and you would accuse me of gaining an advantage in our contest.”

“So it is for my sake you refuse and not for the sake of your pride?”

“That, I did not say. And will not.”

That got him a laugh in turn and the rain seemed lighter. Though that might have been his spirit basking in the joy of that lovely sound.

**

He did not expect to find reinforcements in the caves, though he supposed he should have. The women young enough were wielding makeshift clubs of stone, or bludgeons of rocks inside ripped skirts and slips. They braced him and the company of men, and though they were overmatched they did not falter. He called directions, and surprisingly enough the humans obeyed and the near rout became an orderly fighting retreat back into the narrower tunnels where they could utilize their smaller numbers to greater effect. The orcs they killed added to the corpses blocking the tunnel, winning them a brief respite and he began to give orders in earnest. Some would go further down to where the tunnel opened up and wait, that way when...if the front line was forced to fall further back, they could flank the forces pressing in.

“Those who have scavenged swords, aim for their legs, and the back of their knees. I know the dark may make it difficult, but their armor is also weak at the throat and under the arms.” The howls of the orcs war cries began echoing again and Gimli adjusted his grip on his axe. “Go now, they will not claim these caves, not while we draw breath! Du-bekâr! Khazâd ai-mênu!!”

“Khazâd ai-mênu!” “Khazâd ai-mênu!”  
“Khazâd ai-mênu!” “Khazâd ai-mênu!” “Khazâd ai-mênu!”  
“Khazâd ai-mênu!”

He had expected them to cry ‘For Rohan’ and yet it was his call of Khuzdul that rang through the caves, and if the men and women knew not what they said, they understood the spirit behind it. With them behind him, with such fury to bouy him, he would lead them against the horde. He would not die, not without Legolas to sing to him.

**

“Do not fuss so, it is the duty of the old warriors to make sure the young ones live to become veterans.” Her fingers still trembled but at least the young lass had stopped crying as she worked to wind the bandage around his head. “And you learned to keep your sword up, did you not?”

She nodded. “And to chop, like a knife, when using those dark blades. Not to slash and flail.”

“Good, then the wound is paid for.” He knew not what magic it was but he felt a tug in his chest and looked up to meet sparkling green eyes. “Forty two,” at least he remembered that being the last time he’d counted, “Alas! My axe is notched, for the last wore an iron collar.” And he’d been too busy shaking blood out of his eyes to notice until he’d felt it catch.

“Then you have passed my score by one.”

Tension he’d barely been aware of bled out of him as the deep musical voice slid around him, and he was only mildly surprised when the elf was before him in less than three strides, shooing the young warrior maid away.

“Come, let me see to your wound.”

Gimli snorted and waved hand, hiding his sheepishness with irritation.

“It is tended, and the scar will not hinder me unduly.” He made to stand and found Legolas holding him down, hands tight on his arms.

“Be that as it may, my heart would rest easier to see it for myself.” The strength of the grip gave lie to the forced lightness of tone and Gimli felt his frown melt away.

“Far be it from me to deny your heart peace. Look then if it please you.” The slender, calloused fingers slid down to his hands, giving them a squeeze before Legolas stepped around behind him.

“Nothing that harmed you could please me, but I will look. Humans are capable of much but healing seems beyond most.”

“I thought our Ranger was the one with the healing touch, did you also study?” The bandage came loose, dropping over his eyes.

“Aragorn has much to do and discuss. I am skilled enough.” Cool fingers pressed to his temples as the gauze fluttered over his nose. “So much blood…”

“As is the way with head wounds, a little cut may bleed like a river overfull.”

“I would prefer it stay in it’s spring.”

The dry humor made Gimli smile.

“As would I, but Orcs are a disagreeable sort.” He leaned back, allowing his head to rest below Legolas’ ribs, feeling the strong thrum of his heartbeat.

“I do not dispute it. I find their lack of civility almost as appalling as their stench.”

Gimli laughed as the deft fingers combed his hair gently away from the wound before probing it. “Ah the nose on you! Then how do you tolerate Aragorn and myself? We must be as odorous as orcs by now.”

“Never say so.”

“I notice you do not deny it.” He grunted as Legolas tugged a lock of blood matted hair.

“Do not presume to know my thoughts, friend Gimli. You are much more pleasing than orcs. Aragorn as well, when he is not crushing himself under the weight of his perceived guilt.”

“He feels the breaking of the Fellowship keenly. I hold him no more accountable for it than I do Gandalf.” Gimli understood the burdens of leadership, his father had told him tales of the toll it had taken on Thorin even before the dragon sickness. But there was no benefit to flagellating oneself with roads not taken when a task was before you. As Gandalf had said in Fangorn, once a decision was made by the compass of one’s heart and understanding of right, then there was nothing to regret.

“I as well.” He was startled from his thoughts by Legolas' voice and neat efficiency of the cool hands. Soon enough the bandage was replaced, and his vision cleared. “Perhaps we should tell him so.” Legolas gave his shoulder a pat and Gimli sat up reluctantly.

“Mayhap.” He stood slowly, pausing to make sure his balance would not desert him. “I suggest we do so over a drink. What say you?” He turned to face Legolas and was nearly blinded by the smile, haloed by the clouds and shafts of sunlight.

“I say it is one of the best ideas I have heard you speak.”

“Ah-ha! So you admit I have had more than one!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned on putting more action into their dialogue about age and death, but the more I read it, the more I liked how it was, the journey they're on is important, but it shouldn't take away from the discussion. Also I made up that whole thing about the Halls of Mahal please don't hate me.


	3. Outside and Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Isengard and back to Rohan, from simple touches to kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take more liberties with Dwarvish culture, quite a few with the encounter with Saruman, and Aragorn makes an actual appearance for about five seconds.

Perhaps the men found it amusing that he feared the trees so, but he was the only axe bearer among them; and unlike the mallorn of the Golden Wood these trees were not curious or calm. They were wroth, and with two-leggers that used weapons similar to his own.

 

“Be at ease, as long as you are with me you are safe. I will tell the trees you mean no harm to them.”

 

“Ah but friend Legolas you are as like to flit away and join the trees as stay with me; and with you absent I fear the company may lose a dwarf.”

 

“Mayhap if you sang to them there would be no need for me to tell them aught.” There was barely restrained mirth in the elf’s voice and Gimli ducked his head to hide his grimace.

 

“I have not the voice for it. Why not serenade them yourself?” 

 

He jerked as Gandalf spoke. He had forgotten they rode next to the wizard.

 

“He would sing nothing but questions, and we do not have time to wait for the answers.”

 

“I would not sing questions only! I would also sing of their bravery and beauty!” Gimli looked around as Legolas kept Arod from getting too near the edge of the path.

 

“Bravery I can agree with.” Well did he remember the orcs who had fled into the shadows of the forest never to be seen again. He tried to see beyond his fear, to ignore the oppressive aura. “Beauty...can be found in their strength. The reach of their branches and the power of their roots I suppose.” He stiffened as he felt even more eyes upon him and looked around to see he had the attention of their companions as well as the wary woods. “What?” he straightened his spine, glowering at them. “A smith may appreciate sculpture though he have not the skill for it!”

 

“Indeed.” he turned back to Legolas and saw the glint of a pale green eye over the elf’s shoulder, his voice thoughtful. “I am even more convinced our bargain was well struck.” There was an air of satisfaction around him as he turned back towards the distant tower; and Gimli could not help but wonder if he had passed a test of some kind.

 

**

 

Saruman was a boulder where Queen Galadriel had been a hammer and chisel. His presence in Gimli’s mind nearly knocked the Dwarf off Arod’s back.

 

**_Do you truly think he could love you? An unwashed, hair covered mole who gnaws at things he knows not of like a Warg with a bone?_ **

 

Gimli snarled shaking his head. As to the first his hair was a thing of beauty. He was proud of his beard and braids, and Legolas had expressed no distaste at them. To the second he knew Legolas shared his dogged stubbornness, it simply manifested differently. He did not expect it but he hoped that perhaps Legolas could come to love him eventually.

 

_**And when you must sire an heir? Will you hate him then, when he cannot give you what you desire?** _

 

The strangeness of it all only fueled his anger. Surely a wizard that had been as great as Saruman knew that once a Dwarf’s heart came upon its destined One it would no more falter than the moon as it followed the sun. As for heirs, he had kin aplenty if ever he had need.

 

Yet the boulder continued to roll searching for any crevice it might wedge itself into, but the careful chiseling of Queen Galadriel had seen Gimli’s mind become as the Dwarf fortresses of old. There was no weakness to exploit, not now.

 

_**He will leave you, for his trees and sun. You will waste away alone.** _

 

Perhaps King Thranduil had not kept his word to the dwarves until tragedy had struck, but Legolas was his father as much as Gimli was the great Thorin Oakenshield. Legolas had promised to sing him into the halls of Mahal, and he had no doubt that the rich lilting voice would be the last he heard in the living world.

 

“Legolas, you should shoot him.” 

 

_**Violence, ever the resort of the weak. You would dare usurp negotiations between myself and King Theodan?**_ He could not see the wizard’s face but he could imagine the sneer as plain as day. Gimli ignored him. Threats and coercion were not negotiations, and if Saruman was attempting to cow him by shouting in his mind then surely others were fighting as well...and yet Legolas had not responded.

 

“Legolas?” He squeezed the archer’s hips gently. 

 

As if he were under a great weight one lithe arm lifted, only making it halfway to the quiver.

“I could put it through his eye, if it would please you.” The elf sounded dazed, almost slurring his words. Gimli shook his head.

 

“Nay, that would let him wiggle his way into death instead of atonement” A challenge, surely that would rouse Legolas’ fiery spirit. “Can you not pin his hand to his staff?”

 

“Mm.” Yet it had not, and the raised arm lowered. Gimli moved to take the loosely dangling hand and hissed. Legolas had always seemed cool, but his fingers felt like the ice of Caradhras.

 

“Legolas? Leogloas...‘ibinê, can you hear me?” He kept his voice low, Gandalf and Aragorn still spoke to the traitorous snake.

 

“Gimli?”

 

“Yes Legolas, focus on me.” It seemed almost that the elf suffered from mine sickness, when those not suited to the close cramped work lost themselves in the flame of the lanterns. “Can you feel me breathe?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Breathe with me.”

 

“But you breathe so quickly…” Gimli relaxed slightly. So Legolas was not too far gone fighting whatever poison Saruman was trying to douse him in.

 

“Then one to every two of mine elf, I want to make certain you are not about to vanish into starlight.”

 

“It is not even yet noontide.” Yet Gimli felt the slow press of Legolas’ back against his chest as he breathed in. “Gimli.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“What did you call me?”

 

“Elf.”

 

“Before.”

 

“Legolas.”

 

“After.”

 

“I will not sully the word by explaining it in the presence of Saruman the betrayer.”

 

“So it is special.” Legolas’ voice was stronger, and Gimli could almost hear the return of the confident smile.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good.” Legolas reached up languidly and drew an arrow from his quiver, nocking it carefully as Arod shifted his weight. “His hand you said?”

 

“Can you even see to aim, with the sun behind him so?”

 

“You doubt me?”

 

“Others perhaps. You? Never.”

 

**

 

Gimli shed his coat of mail, grunting softly as he tossed it on to a nearby chair. The jingling earned him an unhappy mutter from Merry, who pulled his blanket over his head.

 

“Apologies young friend.” Another mutter, less angry. “Good night.” A grunt of...acknowledgement perhaps. Gimli shook his head and began to unlace his tunic, going still as familiar arms came around from behind him, long fingered hands sliding under the woolen shirt to pull it off him. It joined his ring mail on the chair.

 

“How is it you are always so warm?”

 

He worked to keep his breathing steady as cool hands slid down his bare shoulders, tracing his warrior ink, to stroke his chest; swallowing hard as the deft fingers carded through the thick hair there.

 

“How is it that you are so chilled?”

 

“I know not. I am not so to other Elves.” Gimli inhaled sharply as a calloused finger dragged across his nipple.

 

“Legolas…”

 

“That is not what you called me earlier, do not think I have forgotten.”

 

“Elf-” He gasped as Legolas did it again.

 

“Not that either. Come Gimli, I wish to hear it now, when my mind is free, and clear as the skies of the south.” 

 

It was Not Done. His ancestors would call him worse than betrayer, yet he had already spoken Khudzul where his companions had heard. The people of Rohan had heard his battle cry and lived. And did not Legolas deserve to know what he was called? To understand how Gimli saw him?

 

“Ibinê.” He turned in the circle of Legolas’ arms and reached up to grab the Elf by his leather jerkin. He pulled him down to press their foreheads together, taking in the glow of the wide green eyes as the archer’s unbound silver hair fell around them like a curtain. He could whisper and those delicately pointed ears would hear every word so long as the thundering of his heart did not drown them out. “My jewel…”

 

Legolas seemed frozen for a moment then he smiled and Gimli would swear it was the sweetest expression he’d yet seen on the Elf’s face.

 

“Melleth-nin…” Then he was lifted on to his cot and eager lips found his as the cool hands moved down to grab his hips.

 

The kiss was warm, soft, slightly dry but he would fix that. Gimli moaned, snaking his tongue out to explore the elf’s mouth, leaning in for more at the soft whimper it won him as Legolas’ hands reached up to curl in his hair. He gasped as the archer nipped his lips then set to exploring his mouth in turn. He slid his hands up Legolas’ sensitive sides, whining as that got his head tugged back, the hot wet mouth moving away then sneaking under his beard to press at his throat.

 

They both froze as Merry sat up and rolled over, flailing a bit before falling back into restful slumber. 

 

Legolas growled and pulled back, smoothing Gimli’s hair.

 

“We have not the privacy I desire for this, and you require sleep.”

 

Gimli groaned and reached up to stroke Legolas’ cheek, trying to slow his breathing.

 

“That you think me able to sleep after that, tells me you know naught of how powerful you are.”

 

“Not powerful enough to stay and drink you with only my eyes. Alas I would send my mouth to follow them.” He purred as Gimli kissed him again.

 

“I am sorely tempted, yet you speak rightly. Rest is something we both need.” Gimli moved to nibble Legolas’ ear, enjoying the way it made the strong frame shake against him. “But mark me, longshanks: I will not be forgetting this.”

 

“I would be offended if you did.” The elf pulled back and a shaft of moonlight painted him almost as a granite statue, but Gimli knew that heat was there, indeed it shone through the pale green eyes like spirit fire. “I will take the air and think further on your future repayment.”

 

“I will work to outstrip your greatest expectations.

 

” Legolas grinned and kissed him once more, a quick, fleeting thing that had Gimli catching the elf’s tunic to pull him in for another.

 

“Mmm...peace, I must go.” Legolas’ voice was raspy and thick with barely restrained desire. “Or watching eyes be damned, you will get no rest this night.” 

 

Gimli watched him stride from the room and fell back onto his cot, rubbing his face. He was sure he would get no sleep at all, despite Legolas’ good intentions.

 

It was never pleasant to be correct in the worst way. 

 

He felt as if he had scarcely closed his eyes when he heard Pippin’s screams and Gandalf’s shouts.

 

**

 

“Speak to him Aragorn.”

 

The Ranger groaned.

 

“And tell him what, Gimli? That had I been more alert, and watchful, his cousin would not now be in mortal danger once again?”

 

Legolas did not look up from where he was tending his bow.

 

“He thinks the same as you Aragorn. It might give him a measure of comfort to know he is not alone.” For a moment there was a moody silence, then Aragorn ran a hand through his hair.

 

“You speak sense. I shall seek him out.”

 

Gimli watched him go, letting smoke blow from his nose.

 

“Sense when  _ you _ speak it I see.”

 

“He would not have heeded me, had you not first broached the subject.”

 

“True enough.” He puffed on his pipe. “Do you feel the same?”

 

Legolas hummed, checking the tension of his bowstring.

 

“No, for I know even my warnings would not have been able to halt young Pippin’s curiosity.” Prasiolite eyes gleamed at him in the torchlight. “And I believe you know that as well as I.”

 

“Indeed, he would not heed a wizard; why so then, would a Dwarf sway him?” He sighed and blew a smoke ring, watching it rise to the ceiling. “But he is strong and clever. I doubt not we shall see him again in Minas Tirith.”

 

“So you mean to follow Aragorn there as well.”

 

“Of course, though whether we depart with the might of Rohan beside us, or as the Three Hunters and a Hobbit, remains to be seen.”

 

Legolas set his quiver roughly on the long table.

 

“I have long since given up reading the hearts of men. Full often do they feel one way, yet act another. It is...difficult.” Gimli watched as as the elf began to test the fletching on his arrows. “It is not the elvish way. We follow our feelings, true as an arrow. If we must bend our hearts to sense then at least we are honest about it!”

 

“And dwarven hearts?” He watched Legolas’ movements stutter slightly. “I feel that they would be quite easy for you to discover.”

 

“I...have met only one dwarf whose heart I would wish to look into…” The feathers hissed as he ran his fingers over them restlessly. “But I fear what I may see.”

 

Gimli gripped his pipe so hard the bowl creaked.

 

“You fear it untrue?”

 

“No.” Legolas bit his lip. “I only fear...it may be that...There is no kind way to say it; do not make me, Gimli.” That was not like the elf he knew. He slid off the chair and moved closer.

 

“Leave kindness to the Lady Galadriel, you are no moonbeam on water. You are Legolas of the Greenwood, a proud beech tree that weathers all storms and stands unbowed. Be honest as you have always been. You have no need to fear me,” he set his pipe down on the table and reached out to brush his fingers over the elf’s knuckles, “or my heart.”

 

“I fear I will not find it as full as my own.” The already low voice seemed heavy with unspoken emotion. “And...I fear if it is. For then it will be death that takes you from me, not another I could contest.”

 

“Legolas-”

 

“Peace! I will not think on it.”

 

Gimli huffed and reached up, turning the strong jaw down so he could kiss those pursed lips.

 

“Stone-headed arrow flinger. Think of the here, the now. Death could take us both tomorrow, but I would rather have you here in my arms than out there alone fighting your ‘might be’.”  He grunted as he was surrounded in an embrace as strong as stone, but as gentle as down.

 

“And you claim you are not charming.”

 

“I am not, I simply speak as I find. You have never been wooed as you deserve.”

 

“Hush dwarf, I wish to enjoy holding you.”


	4. Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The path of the dead and the battle of Pelannor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit short here and in the next few, but don't worry, I'll be going all the way to the gray havens and uh...maybe a little beyond.

It was much easier to ride behind Legolas when he knew he did not overstep by wrapping his arms around the elf’s waist, and when he could make those pointed ears flush by quietly stating the obvious.

 

    “I must keep in mind that you prefer a fast hard ride to a slow one.”

**

 

The new arrivals seemed to appear out of the night, as if the sky itself had manifested in shining obsidian skin and twinkling smiles. Aragorn practically leapt forward.

 

    “Halbarad! How came you thus?”

 

“We came because we were summoned, by you.” The lead rider dismounted, his braids swaying around his shoulders like a great bird’s feathers. Aragorn clasped his forearm and they stood almost as two forest gods in the light of the moon. Gimli realized he was allowing Legolas’ fanciful thoughts to influence his own.

 

    “I did not summon you, save in my thoughts for full often I have wished for my fellow rangers near.” Aragorn looked at the still mounted contingent. “And Elrond’s sons among you...ah, I see he has read the way the wind is blowing and thus sends me the best defense against the coming shadow.”

 

Halbarad laughed.

 

    “Indeed! For we have come to follow you into it’s very depths and scatter it like the ashes of a long dead fire.” The two of them began talking by the horses and Gimli reached over to touch Legolas’ hand.

 

    “It seems we will be here some little while, may I borrow your fine fingers?”

 

    “As long as they remain attached to my hands afterwards, I would mourn the loss of being able to touch you elsewise.”

 

    “I would not waste such marvels on the frivolity of macabre jewelry.” He led the elf away from others and closer to a small fire. “I wish you to help me braid my hair.” Gimli smiled wryly. “Seeing master Halbarad’s fine braids reminded me of the sorry state mine are in, and while I have the comb and oils, I have not the dexterity without removing my armor.”

 

    “And we have not the time for you to remove them and then rearm if Aragorn presses on as he seems wont to do…” Legolas hummed softly. “I am a stranger to dwarvish braids, but if you feel I can do your lovely hair justice, then I am at your service.”

 

Gimli blushed and cleared his throat.

 

    “And...could you sing? It is thought that whatever is spoken during the combing and braiding is caught within...and I would have your voice in my ears when all else is silent.” For a moment he thought perhaps the elf would laugh, but those prasiolite eyes seemed to darken to near emerald, the air around them heating more than the small fire could account for.

 

    “Gladly have I sung for lesser things, and I will sing for this with a willing and eager heart.”

 

    “Then I will set the comb to heat while we rub the oil into my hair.”

 

**

 

The narrow path was a cold shadow near their tent and Gimli was more than glad to wrap himself in the blanket Theodan’s quartermaster had provided, Legolas sprawled against him, resting his head on the dwarf’s shoulder.

 

    “Gimli, when was it, that I seemed fair to you?”

 

    “Always.”

 

    “Do not jest, I am in earnest.”

 

    “As am I. I have always found you fair. The granite and marble color of your skin, your hair like delicate woven silver, the gem like glow of your eyes, they all entranced me from the moment I saw you. I did not _trust_ you. That does not mean I found you foul.” He ran his fingers through the silken strands of the elf’s hair. “There is almost always danger in beauty, they who do not go carefully may find that beauty the last they see.”

 

    “Then think you Queen Galadriel is dangerous?”

 

    “The Lady of the Golden Wood is the most dangerous person either of us have met is what I think.”

 

    “Alas! For once you speak sense and I cannot tease you for your poet’s soul.” Gimli growled and ran his fingers along Legolas’ ribs, smirking at the peals of surprised laughter that filled their tent.

 

    “If you would mock the poet then fear the lover’s retribution!”

 

    “Ah! Gimli please! Ha! Forgive me melleth-nin!” The Dwarf stopped and pressed a kiss to Legolas’ heaving chest, inhaling the smell of leather and weapons polish.

 

    “Always ibinê.”

 

**

 

He could almost hear Saruman in his head, sneering. An Elf would venture underground, while a Dwarf dared not? But his immortal Givashel had no reason to fear the dead, he did not see his own future for he would sail to Valinor when the time came. Gimli steeled himself. He was no oath breaker, cursed to wander, severed from Mahal and his kin.

 

    “Faithless is he who turns aside when the path seems dark.” He strode into the oppressive gloom, holding his honor and the memory of Legolas’ laughter close to his heart to keep the shadows at bay.

 

It did not work.

 

At first he thought it had, but he could barely see the torch ahead and every step steeped his limbs in a cold he could not shake. He felt as if he were entering the mines after a collapse, the smothered ghosts of the miners reaching through the stone to hold him down. He could not stop, he knew to stop was to invite death and this was not his place to die. Legolas was not singing.

 

He collapsed to his hands and knees, and began to crawl. His braids brushed his ear as they swayed and he could almost hear the elf’s voice. That awaited him at the end of this dark road. He would persevere.

 

No he could not do it, the dark was overwhelming, he was alone, lost behind…He inhaled deeply, ignoring the musk of old dirt and the stale air, only seeking the scent of the oil in his own hair. It was home.

 

Erebor, a mountain alone.

A journey just as perilous.

As his father had kept faith, so too would he.

 

**  


Gimli growled in frustration as Legolas flinched away from his touch.

 

    “Elf.”

 

    “I cannot help that it aches!”

 

He’d been trying to help Legolas wipe off the grime of battle but the elf had been more flighty than ever.

 

    “By the stone Legolas! Where does it not ache?!” He pressed his fists to his hips as Legolas sat on the bed, face turned away.

 

    “Here.” he presented his elbow and Gimli couldn’t help the soft snort, tossing the damp cloth back into the basin. He supposed climbing an oliphaunt amidst a great battle would have taxed any warrior, even one so skilled as Legolas. He leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to the cool skin, enjoying the surprised breath and wide eyes. But his lover recovered quickly.

 

    “And here.” He tapped his chin. Happy to oblige Gimli climbed up on to the bed to kiss it as well.

 

    “Anywhere else?” He hummed as Legolas reached up to trace the shell of his ear.

 

    “If you kiss me properly I doubt I will ache at all, save one place.” Gimli chuckled and turned his head to brush a kiss across the slightly bruised knuckles.

 

    “Nay my heart. It is your turn to rest.” He laughed in earnest as the elf fell back onto the bed, wincing as his body likely complained at the rough treatment.

 

    “I like it not.”

 

    “I know.”

 

Legolas reached out to hold him, then stopped groaning softly.

 

    “A thousand plagues on mercenaries and their mounts!”

 

    “Agreed. Now rest and when you wake perhaps I will give you that kiss.”

 

    “Only perhaps?”

 

    “My mouth may be too busy elsewhere on you.”

 

    “Ai, melleth-nin...fine. I will rest. You will remain near?”

 

    “Aye. you are my Ghivashel. I will not suffer to be parted from you.”

 

    “As it should be.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene after pelannor is based loosely on a scene from Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Arc, i thought it would be nice to have Legolas suffer a bit.


	5. Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are promises sealed with a kiss.

Well could he remember feeling Legolas slip away from him, even as he gripped the elf to stay mounted as Arod charged into battle...Legolas had been gone. He had not known why. And he was ashamed to admit the pall of fear from the army of dead men behind them had kept him from asking.

 

As Legolas bid the hobbits farewell and practically skipped down the cobbled street, singing of the sea Gimli found that for once he could not bear to listen. He jerked back to himself as Merry placed a hand on his arm, brown eyes warm with sympathy.

 

“He will not leave while you are still here. I know it.” 

 

Gimli cleared his throat and patted the small hand.

 

“My thanks, but do not fret over us. There is much yet to do before the end.”

 

Pippin nodded, sighing.

 

“I only wish we knew if it would be a good end.” There was nothing any could say to that, so they parted with silent nods; Gimli following the distant sound of Legolas’ singing.

 

But as the hobbits reached the curve in the road leading to the house of healing he heard Pippin exclaim:

 

“Wait, what do you mean Legolas would not leave Gimli?”

 

He started walking faster to keep from laughing, Merry’s exasperated cry of “Pippin!” drifting after him.

 

He found his Elf waiting near the gates, a pensive frown furrowing his brow. Gimli had barely opened his mouth to ask what troubled his jewel so when Legolas spoke.

 

“You did not tell me the Path of the Dead was such an ordeal for you.” The street around them was empty, and Gimli was glad of it.

 

“There was no time. And when the dead were gone no opportunity presented itself.” He crossed his arms, refusing to recall the chill of his fear. “And had it I do not know that I would have spoken of it.” He looked around, noting the smears of blood and ash on the cobbles and walls. “It is a shame to me that I failed our fellowship so badly.”

 

Legolas stepped towards him, voice rough with concern.

 

“It is no shame to be afraid Gimli!”

 

“You were not. Aragorn was not. Even Halbarad and his men were resolute in the face of that darkness.”

 

“You did not see them shake as I did melleth-nin, how Aragorn’s hands trembled even as his voice remained strong. You mastered your fear just as they did.”

 

“No. It rode me out into the open air choking the hope and will from me until those foul spirits vanished.”

 

“...And I marked it not…”

 

Gimli finally looked up and let his arms fall at the defeated expression Legolas wore. He reached out and took the elf’s hand, squeezing it gently.

 

“You kept the horses from bolting, without them we would have been far too late and all would have been lost. Do not fault yourself for focusing on the task at hand.”

 

“But after-!”

 

Gimli shook his head.

 

“After; you faced a trial of your own, that I note you did not speak of to me before now.” Bright green eyes darted away, landing on a small flock of birds on a nearby roof.

 

“I could not bring myself to. You are mortal Gimli, how could I tell you that the world now holds almost nothing that will give me peace when in a short two hundred years you will depart it forever?”

 

“Darling, brave, stone-headed elf…” He pulled Legolas into an embrace, feeling the archer curl over him, the silver hair tickling his ears as it fell over his shoulders. “I told you before, speak to me honestly, I will ever love you.”

 

“That holds true for you as well lovely, charming, dirt-brained dwarf of mine. Tell me everything, I will hoard it all as greedily as any wyrm and love every moment, however fleeting.”

 

**

The gates of Barad Dur loomed in the distance. The mood of the men who marched with them was dark, and Gimli found himself wishing Legolas had allowed him to ride up front. To have the elf’s arms around him would have been a welcome comfort.

 

“Will you sing for me?”

 

For a moment he thought had voiced his own request, but no. It was Legolas, almost furtive. He looked up to see if there was a glint of mischievous green eyes peering at him over Legolas’ shoulder, but there was only the flush of pink on the delicately pointed ears.

 

“You wish for _ me _ to sing?”

 

“The future is uncertain and if we both perish I would greet the Valar having heard your voice raised in song, since I have not yet heard it steeped in pleasure.” 

 

Gimli felt the familiar ache in his chest. They had tried several times to find quiet moments, places and yet the war was ever present and so were their companions.

 

“Legolas...I have not the skill-”

 

“Please, Gimli.”

 

There was a quiet desperation in Legolas’ tone and Gimli wracked his brain for anything that was not a dirge, or entirely in Khudzul.

 

“When first you dig, beware of traps in mountains unfamiliar.

You take your pick and tap-tap-tap, paying heed to all you hear.”

 

His voice was raspy and off key, he knew. He had ever been the rhythm keeper, never the tone setter. But Legolas did not tell him to stop.

 

“If high and fine, then stop and mine. A vein you may find near.

But if low and slow the tone it goes, rush out with all things dear.”

 

A children’s learning song, not fit for so dire a march, nor a match for the elegant songs Legolas sang of the sky and trees. Gimli could feel embarrassment creeping up his spine, but he continued to sing, because he had been asked.

 

“For hallowed halls are well and good, for Kings and all they hold.

Hollow walls are gates to death for all but warriors bold.

Yet do not fear the dark and damp, though they stretch so seeming long,

For you have a pick and fellows true, to help you safely home.”

 

He let the last note go and cleared his throat, awaiting Legolas’ judgement.

 

None came.

 

“Surely I have not rendered you mute?”

 

“No...I did not know you had learned to mine.”

 

That wasn’t what Gimli had expected, but his elf seemed less tense, so he simply shrugged.

 

“It is a skill taught to all young dwarrow, dane and dam alike. Though many do not have the talent for it they carry the lessons with them. It gives the smiths an appreciation for their materials outside of function and beauty, and those who choose the warrior path perspective on the dangers even supposed safety can have.” He was struck by a memory and laughed.

 

“Of course other professions benefit from the skills gained while mining. My friend Kibil once said: ‘My brother must have learned to make bread from mining diamonds’ I asked: ‘Why? Is it elegant and coveted?’ Kibil said: ‘No, I threw it at Tahin and it knocked him cold’.”

 

Legolas laughed, and seemed startled by it, covering his mouth as the men nearby turned to look at them. He leaned over to stroke Arod’s mane.

 

“I would like to meet this Kibil.”

 

Gimli leaned against Legolas’ back and hummed.

 

“I will introduce you if you can find it in your heart to journey home with me to Erebor.”

 

“Oh? And will you venture into the Greenwood with me?”

 

“I already agreed to Fangorn, I suppose the Greenwood itself will be no trial after that.” He grunted, shifting to keep his balance as Legolas turned to look at him, green eyes wide and searching his face; for what the dwarf did not know.

 

“Truely? You would come with me, to my home?”

 

“Of course.”

  
  


**

Gimli coughed as the dust settled around them, watching the eagles fly away from the erupting mountain.

 

“I suppose Gandalf means us to make our own way back.”

 

Legolas laughed, falling back against the corpse of an armored cave troll.

 

“I suppose he does, though I cannot begrudge him his haste.”

 

Gimli sat on the churned earth with a grunt, glad to be off his feet, if only for a moment.

 

“Nor I, truth be told. I would rather trust you and Arod, with only three times my height to fall, than a proud eagle who might drop me to my death for some perceived slight.”

 

“Ah, do I detect a sour note there melleth?” Legolas leaned forward, and Gimli found himself stroking his beard, turning the thought over as he examined his feelings closer.

 

“Mm...perhaps. Father spoke of being carried by the eagles and I admit as a young dwarrow I was always curious.” He shrugged. “But I spoke the truth. I would rather be with you.” He found himself with his arms full of elf as he fell back into the dirt. “Durin’s beard! Legolas what-”

 

He was cut off by soft lips on his own, cool hands threading through his beard to keep him close. He grabbed the elf’s pauldrons and pushed him back just enough so he could get his teeth on that pale throat, feeling the slow steady pulse of Legolas’ life against his tongue.

 

“Oooooh! Is that what you meant Merry? Are they courting now?”

 

“Pippin!”

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to indent and I couldn't figure out how so I got frustrated, if it's really awful let me know and I'll flail around some more to try and get it to work.


End file.
